


Once and Again

by MerKat



Series: MerKat RPs [23]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canon Universe, Coming Untouched, Cuddles, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Flavored Lube, Frotting, Guitarist!Greg, Kissing, Light Angst, Light Angst and Smut, M/M, Public Sex, Rimming, Smut, Time Skips, Unilock, bottom!Mycroft, musician!Greg, top!Greg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-19 07:02:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2379203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerKat/pseuds/MerKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What better thing than a guitar to bring two people together not once, but twice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once and Again

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [scamdal's](http://scamdal.tumblr.com/) AU suggestion [post](http://themadkatter13.tumblr.com/post/93321217924/scamdal-you-want-more-aus-ill-give-you-more/) bullet: "you’ve been playing guitar in the hall of the hotel since three in the morning and i came down to tell you to shut the fuck up au".

Mycroft Holmes stared at the ceiling. Down the hall he could hear the same... chord... start over... again. Whoever was playing wasn’t bad. And he could appreciate practice. But not at three in the morning. He glanced at the phone by the bed and briefly considered calling in a favor. No, no, the idea was to pass as a regular college student. So he could handle his own obnoxious neighbor. Throwing on a robe and slippers, he walked into the hall. It was easy to find the source of the noise, especially as the door was slightly ajar. Pushing it open he was momentarily caught by the very good looks of the young man. No. Shaking his head he moved into the room, noticing it was lived in, but not horribly messy. And apparently the musician had headphones in as he didn’t seem to notice the stranger in his room.

Why couldn't he get this damned section right? A short, four godforsaken bars had consumed more of Greg’s time than they really should have, and yet his fingers continued to stumble clumsily over the frets. He growled in frustration and resisted the urge to throw down his guitar, the single most expensive item he owned, as he stood up, the free coffee in the lobby calling to his tired eyes. He nearly dropped his guitar anyway at the sight of the attractive redhead in his open doorway, looking more adorable in a tartan dressing gown and slippers and angry glare than he guessed the young man usually did. " _Bonjour, étranger_ ," ( _Hello, stranger_ ) he greeted in the easy French he’d inherited from his father with the charming smile he’d inherited by his mother to hide the sudden, surprised pounding of his heart.

Mycroft had several thoughts at once regarding that smile, at least two of which involved shoving him back on the bed. Instead he crossed his arms and glared. "It is three in the morning," he informed him, easily answering in French himself. 

The information surprised Greg into dropping the smile and spinning to squint at the clock on the bedside. “Fuck,” he breathed, turning back around as he ran his free hand through his hair. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I got so caught up in...” His eyes narrowed at the young man. He seemed posh enough to have played some sort of classical instrument, with fingers like that, maybe a piano, but chances were just as likely that he’d never touched an instrument at all. “My mum and dad are having a renewal ceremony or something in two days and I’m just trying to get this right before then but... clumsy fingers,” he chuckled, wiggling said digits in the air.

Raising an eyebrow, Mycroft gestured for the guitar. Surprised, the stranger handed it over. Mycroft had taken a few lessons a couple years back, but like anything else he’d found he was good at picking things up by ear once he knew the basics. And after listening to the same bars for the last four hours he at least had an idea where the other man was going with it. He took a moment to settle the guitar in his hands, then made an attempt at the bars. By the third one he had the chords right, judging by the surprised expression on the man’s face. “Like this. I do believe you keep slipping off this fret here,” he said, showing him. The musician moved closer and Mycroft got a whiff or something delicious. Swallowing, he handed the guitar back. “Good night,” he said, turning to go before he got himself in trouble.

“Wait!” Greg called before the man could disappear out the door entirely. For a bloke in a robe and slippers, he moved with a ridiculous amount of speed and grace. The redhead (were those freckles? Oh god, he was in trouble) turned with an arched eyebrow, expression imperious and impatient. Maybe he was out of his league, but he’d already jumped in with both feet and it was time to swim. Plus, he didn’t come back over to France very often, may as well have a bit of fun before he had to go back to London. “Since you’re already up, how about a terrible cup of lobby coffee?” he offered with a grin.

He should say no, should go right back to bed. But those deep brown eyes and brown hair… well he was in France, after all. Wasn’t the point to have a bit of fun? (Not that Mycroft Holmes had ever been particularly good at relaxing.) “Very well,” he said. There was something slightly off about the other man’s accent, as if French wasn’t what he spoke every day. Curious. He could probe further over that cup of coffee. “However, I do believe there is an all night coffee shop a block away. I will meet you in the lobby.”

“Even better,” he said, grin still in place as he watched the stranger move out of the door. Though the young man seemed a bit on the heavier side, something Greg hoped he would be able to explore in detail shortly, he moved in a amazingly self-assured manner, one that made his jeans uncomfortably tight. The fact that he’d been wearing a bathrobe when he’d come to reprimand Greg didn’t mean anything though, and neither did the acceptance of coffee; the redhead could just be looking for recompense for the hours of guitar music. Not that he would blame the man, but he had rather hoped for a bit of fun this holiday. Starting as he remembered he had a bit of a deadline, he ran a hand over his jeans and his ratty shirt, double-checked that he was even wearing shoes, snagged his wallet and jacket, and jogged out the door and down into the lobby.

Even on holiday, Mycroft wore proper trousers, not jeans. He found himself looking in the mirror twice as he buttoned up his shirt. It was only coffee, he reminded himself, nothing more. He poked self-consciously at his stomach and made a mental promise to avoid the sweets before grabbing his own jacket and heading down to the lobby. 

Greg was a little surprised to find the other man not waiting for him when he arrived, but when he walked in, he understood why. It was unusual to see someone that young wearing something that dapper, but it really did suit him: a stark white button-up under a grey, proper tweed? wool? waistcoat and matching trousers were accompanied by a brolly of all things, despite the clear sky and the early hour. “Hello, stranger,” he said for the second time, same smile on his face and his heart accelerated, but no longer pounding. 

Offering his hand, Mycroft smiled. "Mycroft Holmes." The other young man looked rough around the edges still, but ruggedly handsome with the scruff on his cheeks. It was certainly making his body react. Of course he was attracted to a 'bad boy.'

“Greg Lestrade,” he replied, gripping the offered hand firmly. It was only as Mycroft was pulling his hand away that Greg realised how soft his palm and fingers were, and the tips of his own fingers trailed and lingered along the other’s.

Greg’s hand was surprisingly smooth, though his fingers were calloused from the guitar. He didn’t miss the lingering touch either. Intriguing, certainly. Despite the hour, he found himself wanting to get to know Greg better as he looked at those deep brown eyes, finally swallowing as he looked away.

“So what has you in a place like this?” Greg asked as they began to walk into the cool morning air, mind stalling at the slight dilation he’d seen in the blue eyes. “You look a bit posh to be in a place so... not,” he laughed, feeling oddly giddy in the way one gets out and about at this time of night, when so much of the city was asleep in bed. It was a feeling he never grew tired of. He took a deep breath of the cool air, loving the smell of the city around him and body near-vibrating with restraint to keep himself from jumping and hollering.

“Just on holiday.” He was amused by the energy coming off of Greg. The man probably didn’t need any coffee. A breeze ruffled the other man’s hair and Mycroft nearly stumbled as his imagination conjured a mental image of Greg’s hair bed-mussed in the morning. Licking his lips and swallowing he gestured around. “Paris, after all.”

“Ah yes, Paris. As the American’s say, ‘The city of love’.” His smile to the redhead was less than subtle, and neither was the wink he sent the other man’s way as the cafe came into view. Greg jogged forward the extra few steps and opened the door with a flourish, one arm completing the bow inwards.

Mycroft blushed slightly, accepting the invitation. “Please, let me pay,” he insisted as the yawning young man behind the counter waited for them to order.

They were soon settled at a corner table, legs and feet tangled underneath as they sipped their coffees. Maybe it was the hour, or the city, but Mycroft was captivated, and he strongly suspected Greg felt the same way. He let three fingers of one hand come to rest on Greg’s wrist, wondering just where the dawn would find them. 

“So, _Mycroft_ , what do you do?” Greg asked curiously, stretching out his legs under the table and boldly sliding them the other’s. Not that those soft fingertips curling around his pulse were any less so. He grinned and turned his hand around, tangling their fingers as he sipped the hot coffee as nonchalant as could be. Partially because he was actually thirsty and a bit tired, but also because it hid his grin at the light flush building under those slightly pale, freckled cheeks.

"I'm in university," Mycroft said carefully. "How about yourself?" He squeezed the warm palm under his own, flushing as he wondered about those hands and what they could do. It had been a long while since he'd allowed himself a lover. Longer still since he'd wanted anyone this way. Maybe there was something about Paris.

“Same. For now,” Greg replied easily, his mind flitting to the classes he’d been considering. It wasn’t a career either of his parents would be happy about, and it didn’t fit in with how he and the rest of his mates tended to act, but it had slowly become something more and more important to him and something he was becoming more and more sure that he would pursue. He jostled himself out of his own mind, realising he was leaving the other behind and smiled brightly. “Well, it sounds like we’re both in Paris for holiday, My. What do you say we have a little fun with each other while we’re here?” And if his offer wasn’t subtle enough, he held blue eyes with his own as he lifted the soft hand clutching his and pressed a kiss to the back of it.

 _My_. He never let anyone shorten his name. Well except Mummy, though he hadn't given up trying to argue with her. But from Greg's soft lips, it didn't seem so bad. "I do suppose 'a little fun' wouldn't be so bad. And at least it would prevent any further early morning guitar practice." He gave a smile and leaned forward, licking his lips again. 

The guitarist eagerly took the silent invitation, nearly knocking the table over in his hurry to get his mouth over the other's. Mycroft's mouth, as Greg invaded it with his tongue, tasted deliciously sweet, barely bitter even after a full cup of coffee. He tried to remember what the redheaded had ordered to make his mouth so addictive, only to quickly realised that right now, nothing mattered less. It was just short of plundering, the way his slick muscle curled and wrapped. It made him wish that they had never left the hotel, so that instead of having to keep half his attention on the coffee cup and plate strewn table between them, he could devote all his attention to freely wrapping and curling his tongue around whatever part of the redhead he desired.

Only barely biting back a moan, Mycroft pulled away from Greg. “I do believe my room is closer. I’m certain the gentleman behind the counter would appreciate us taking this elsewhere.” Under the table he grasped and squeezed Greg’s knee, resisting the urge to move his hand higher, and instead, finding his feet and offering Greg his hand.

As soon as that palm landed in his, Greg pulled the other man in tight against him, holding him close like a waltz and dancing over to press his back to the counter. "I don't know about that," he said in a low voice against My's ear, not missing the shiver. "I think he may like to join." He bit down gently on the soft lobe as he winked jauntily at the attendant. He received a scandalous look from the man behind the counter for his unnecessary, and likely unwelcome, flirtation, and promptly burst into laughter as he dragged the flushed and flustered redhead out the door.

Somehow, Mycroft kept himself from dragging Greg into the nearest alley as they made their way back to the hotel. But the other man’s hand was warm in his, and he leaned in to nibble his neck as they hurried back. They rushed through the lobby and up the stairs. Mycroft’s room was close to the stairwell (thank goodness) and he unlocked his door, nearly dropping his key as Greg’s hands wrapped around his waist. Then they were falling through the entryway. Mycroft used his umbrella to get the door closed as he stumbled towards the bed.

"Handy," Greg complimented as his fingers tugged at the little discs of that tweed (wool?) waistcoat. Somehow, they'd gotten turned around and now he was the one pushing the other young man down onto the bed, tripping after him as Greg's scrambled attempt at quickly undressing himself quickly hobbled his own thighs and knees. He was still laughing though, exhilarated, giddy, and it wasn't long before My was joining in. Between their four hands, they were both naked in no time.

Heart racing, Mycroft looked up at Greg. Perhaps he was being foolish. He didn’t know the man at all, other than a predilection for the guitar at all hours of the morning. But there was something solid and sweet that made him want to know more. He leaned up for a kiss before gesturing at a toiletry bag on the dresser. “There’s lube and condoms,” he said. Being prepared never hurt, even if this was unexpected.

“Any flavoured lube?” Greg asked as he nearly fell off the bed in his hurry to get to the supplies. At the sputtered sound, he looked over his shoulder and laughed anew at the red cheeks and wide eyes even as he dug through the bag by feel. “Maybe next time,” he said with a wink, finally locating the small plastic tube. Holding up the link of foil squares, he asked cheekily, “Think we should save any for tomorrow or should we just go buy more?”

"I think you need to come over here and take me," growled Mycroft, wrapping a hand around himself. "Unless I am reading you wrong and you prefer to watch." God the man was handsome with that warm smile and easy laugh. 

Greg practically tackled the other man, knocking Mycroft’s hand free of his own cock and pressing their lips together in a sloppy kiss. Their cocks, damp from precome, slid against one another as he wrapped a hand around the both them. He had noticed the redhead was circumcised to his uncircumcised, and the difference in sensation was fascinating. He wrapped a hand around the back of My’s neck and broke off the kiss to press their foreheads together, looking down to where their cocks were sliding together. “Beautiful,” he whispered, relishing the way the sparks from the friction had ignited a fire in his groin and the base of his spine.

Mycroft watched his face, rocking together before taking a kiss, too impatient to savor it. There would be time for more kisses. Right now he just needed Greg.

Regrettably, Greg shifted away back onto his knees, reaching to the side to grab the lube. The bottle was a little difficult to open one-handed, but he didn't quite feel ready to release the hold he held on their cocks, even if it made things more difficult. The lubricant was cold when it drizzled over their sensitive flesh, making the both of them hiss, but it wasn't long before the movements of his hand warmed the viscous liquid. The feel of their cocks pressed together as they fucked the slick circle of his fist was nearly beyond his control. He dropped the condom on My's chest and breathed "Open it."

Mycroft used his hands to rip it open. He noticed his fingers trembled as he shifted away so that he could roll it onto Greg's cock. He wanted that cock inside of him as much as he wanted to simply come against Greg's hand. He leaned in and nipped his lower lip, spreading his legs for his lover. "Do what you will."

"Never been a problem." Greg's fingers weren't as gentle as they normally would have as he pressed two into the redhead's tight hole. My cried and bucked and Greg only grinned wider, pumping his fingers roughly and barely waiting for the edges to loosen before pressing in a third. The softer man winced and went quiet, still, and tight around and under him, and he automatically slowed, pressing a kiss to the inside of one knee. "Sorry," he whispered, gentling his fingers. "Clumsy fingers." My laughed at the reference to earlier in the night and relaxed around him.

Mycroft smiled at him and reached out to run a hand through Greg’s hair. “It’s all right.” The truth was he really didn’t mind the roughness. He rocked against the fingers inside of him, needing more. The dark eyes were nearly black with lust.

"Good, because they're not inclined to move far from you soon," he laughed, finally pulling his fingers free and shuffling into place. Even resting against the tight hole, the tip of his cock was being heated in a way that made him lose enough control to just thrust forward. His jaw was gritted against the heat and the vice-like grip, but still a hoarse shout pushed out from between his teeth at the overwhelming sensation.

Groaning, Mycroft’s head rocked back, hands scrabbling down Greg’s back. So full, and so good. He moaned as his lover started to thrust, even the barrier of the condom doing little to temper their sensitivity. He grasped his own cock, Greg’s thrusts driving him into his own hand, head tossing with the pleasure of the moment, Greg’s breath hot against his skin.

"Do you not... 'have fun' very often?" he asked through still-gritted teeth. The other man was tighter around him than anyone he'd had in quite some time, probably as tight as the last virgin he'd spent a night with. It was hard to not just come instantly.

“No,” panted Mycroft. “Not often at all. I am….choosy about my partners.” He wondered if Greg knew just how special he was. He could tell how hard the man was fighting not to come already. Wickedly, he squeezed around him.

"Fuck!" Greg shouted, hips slamming forward so firmly that the bed jolted and hit the wall. My shouted wordlessly, fingernails digging into to Greg's shoulders so hard that it felt like scarring was imminent. The brunette dropped his head to a pale, sweat-dampened collarbone, panting hard as he fought to keep still in order to stave off his orgasm. When he felt as if he'd wrested enough back, he pulled out just a little and rolled his hips smoothly, sliding back inside and groaning an open-mouthed kiss against the lightly-freckled skin below his mouth.

Panting, Mycroft buried his hands in his hair. “Now we’ve probably woken the rest of the hotel,” he purred in Greg’s ear before nipping at the shell of it. Greg felt so perfect above him, hot and warm and filling him over and over again. Mycroft’s eyes fell shut as he concentrated on the feel of him, his own orgasm building.

"If we haven't, well then, I'm not trying hard enough." Greg didn't give My enough time to answer before he began studiously searching for his lover's prostate. His fingers gripped the sheets tightly as he kept adjusting the angle of hips, looking for the expression or sound to indicate he'd found it; when he did, My’s reaction was far from subtle. The redhead nearly screamed as his nails scored lines of broken skin down Greg's back and his hole clamped around his cock so viciously that the guitarist's vision went white as he came with a surprised, hoarse shout.

Mycroft clung to Greg, throat sore as he slowly came back to himself. Vaguely, he was aware of the scratches under his hands. "Sorry," he muttered. He was worried maybe he’d done more damage then Greg would have liked. It had just been so very long since anyone had made him feel this way. And he found himself craving more. 

“Not a problem,” Greg said with a smile. “I consider it a great compliment when I can get someone as quiet and controlled as you to let go so thoroughly. Though," he paused to lean down for a slow kiss as he pulled out and knotted the condom, tossing it to the side, "I can't say I've seen or heard someone do it so prettily before." When he pulled back, the redhead looked positively debauched and his spent cock gave a twitch in protest.

Mycroft smiled softly at him, reaching up to curl a strand of hair in his fingers. "You're unlike anyone else," he said again, meaning it more than he ever had. 

"I've always prefered it that way," Greg admitted, finally falling to his side and sprawling on his back on the sheets and pillows My curled towards him, resting his ear over the brunet's heart and his long, soft fingers on the man's belly. "Special snowflake, and all that shit," he murmured, feeling exhaustion pull at him as he curled an arm under the plush form splayed across him and used his other hand to interlace their fingers together.

Mycroft slept better than he had in ages. He still woke early, leaning up to kiss Greg gently, shifting to straddle him. 

A warmth settled over his hips, a scorching heat pressed to the root of his already-hard cock drawing him enticingly from sleep. Greg's fingers found knees on either side of his hips and he palmed them, sliding his hands up soft thighs that made him hum. "So you know, I am in no way opposed to laying right here and not opening my eyes if you condom and lube me, and you fuck yourself on my cock."

"Lazy," teased Mycroft, opening the lube bottle and reaching back to finger himself, giving a theatrical moan, even as he shivered under Greg's touch. 

The guitarist gave a noncommittal groan and occupied his hands with petting the smooth skin over taut thighs as he listened with one eager ear for all the tiny sounds slipping past his lover's control and out from between his lips. It wasn't soon enough before latex was rolled down his length and a wet heat followed right behind the unrolling circle. Unable to stop himself, Greg curled his fingers tight into the meat of My's thigh as he threw his head back, groaning low in his throat. "God, _yesss..._ " he breathed as the weight over him settled firmly, his cock embraced from tip to base by that dizzingly-tight grip.

Mycroft planted his hands on Greg's firm chest and began to move. The brunette was gorgeous underneath him and he leaned in to nibble on his exposed throat as he took his time, drawing it out for both of them. He kissed up Greg's scruffy jaw before pulling back and moving a little faster. 

Greg was growing more and more awake as the minutes passed, even as his muscles grew more tense with building pleasure. It took effort to remain pliant under the other man, but worth it to see and feel the way My worked his cock with that plush arse. He slid one hand across the other's pelvis, dancing his fingertips down the bobbing erection and smearing come across the head with his thumb. The redhead's rhythm faltered and he whined, removing one hand from Greg's chest to grab his cock. Greg smacked it away and put the escaped hand back against his chest, keeping it there and palm down with his own hands circling the thin wrists. "I want to watch you come on my cock," he breathed.

A ragged moan broke from Mycroft. He shifted and looked down at Greg, gasping as he brushed his prostate. This was amazing. And for Greg to just let him do this... he’d met too many tops that only wanted to dominate. Everything was another check in this man’s favor. Groaning, he moved faster, loving the feel of Greg’s hands on his wrists.

"God, that's it, _mon cher_ ," ( _my dear_ ) he groaned, flexing his arse and hips, bouncing the man in his lap with just the barest bit of pressure of feet against the bed. My's fingers curled, creating crescents of pain on his chest amongst the pleasure as he writhed and bucked endlessly on Greg's cock. Each time his prostate was nudged, it made the walls around him pulse and the fingers convulse until they were both almost wild with pleasure.

In some ways Mycroft didn’t want it to end, but it had to. With a groan, he came hard, coating Greg’s chest with his seed, head falling forward and his eyes closing and the world seemed to shift. The thought, unbidden, entered his mind. _I would shift my world for this man._ It was jarring to think it. After all, he didn’t even really know him. He tried to keep his sudden anxiety from showing in his features.

The feel of My coming around him, the sight of his head dropping forward and his cock pulsing his release all over Greg's belly made the dark haired man's entire body tense as he came with a harsh groan, unable to keep his hips from thrusting up into the lax body over him to wring out every last bit of his orgasm. When he finally stilled, My tipped forward like he didn't have the strength to sit up any longer and Greg helped him down to the side. 

Mycroft was trembling as he lay against Greg, wondering again just what he was doing. Greg’s hands smoothed down his side, planting a kiss on his forehead. Mycroft shifted and kissed him back. “This is wonderful,” he said softly, “but I may need to take things slower. It is nothing against you, Gregory.” He was fairly certain that was the man’s full name.

Greg blinked in surprise at his full name and tilted his head down to look at his lover. My was carefully not looking at him and he nodded. "All right," he said slowly. He'd thought things were going well, but he had to remember this wasn't going to last. Suddenly, the pleasure from his release faded, washed away by an unwelcome and unexpected sobriety that was still no less understood. Where did they go from here? Would My ( _Mycroft_ ) leave? Would they just go back to sleep? The man was still laying against him, but Greg's entire body was tense, waiting for the inevitable escape that didn't usually happen until the visitor knew he had fallen asleep.

Mycroft could feel his tension and guilt wormed in his heart. He raised his head and kissed Greg. “It is not you,” he assured, running his hands down the man’s chest.”You were right when you said I didn’t ‘have fun’ often.” He brought one of Greg’s hands to his mouth and kissed it, seeking out his eyes. “You are special, Gregory. This feels like more than a one night stand. I simply want to get to know you better.”

At the redhead’s words, the tension in his body eased and Greg slid his hand out of the other’s grip, only to cup the soft jaw as he leaned in for a slow kiss. “Okay. That’s fine,” he murmured between brushes of their lips. “Just as you’re not trying to bail on me already.”

“Not at all.” Mycroft said against his kiss. “You are a treasure, Gregory Lestrade.” Just then his stomach growled and he pulled back with a smile. “Perhaps breakfast is in order.”

“I think you’re right.” With an exaggerated groan that made him feel older than he was, Greg rolled over and lifted himself off the bed. Their clothes were scattered every which way and it was with a comfortable silence that they picked up pieces and tossed them to one another. It felt a little odd, putting on grungy clothes, especially over the dried mess on his body, but he didn’t particularly feel like a mad dash to his room in just his pants, so with a sigh, he pulled on the bare minimum before ducking over to pull My into a kiss. “I’m going to take a shower and I’ll meet you in the lobby, yeah?”

"Certainly." Mycroft smiled at him and touched his cheek. 

Only a minute after door clicked shut the phone by his bed rang. Work (he'd started working for the government even though he was still completing his studies). And they needed him immediately. A car was waiting outside. 

"Of course," said Mycroft as he ran a hand through his hair and hung up the phone. He quickly tossed his things into his bag, not wanting to go, but it did seem to be an emergency. He grabbed the hotel stationary and scribbled a quick note, hating to leave like this. He could hear the shower running so he slipped the note under Greg's door and hurried down to meet the car. 

It wasn’t usual for him to rush his showers, but with the promise of the gorgeous redhead waiting in the lobby for him, Greg viciously scrubbed his hair and body clean, hardly even waiting for the water to warm. He wasn’t even sure he was dry when he started throwing on the few clean clothes he’d picked out of his suitcase, glad that he’d at least had it all folded so it wasn’t entirely composed of wrinkles. His shirt and jeans stuck to his skin, made clammy by the damp, as he one-footed his way out the door, trying to shuffle on socks and shoes one handed. He knew he was grinning broadly as he jogged to the lobby, but it faded when he realised My wasn’t there. Realistically though, the man was incredibly well put-together, something that must take some time. But when he realised he’d been waiting for half an hour, he became concerned.

The jog to My’s room was short, as was Greg’s knock on the door. “My?” he called through the wood. He waited, but there was no answer and no sound from inside. He tried again, knocking harder and calling louder. “MY?” Still, nothing. Though he hadn’t known the other very long, it didn’t quite seem like the posh bloke to do something like this. Maybe he was already waiting at the cafe? But even as Greg jogged out the small hotel and towards the small eatery, he could see the window seat they’d been using was just as empty.

Even though he was grasping at straws, the guitarist still felt driven to check with the front desk, and he hurried back, his breath coming in pants as he stopped in front of the desk. “Hey, I’m looking for my friend? Mycroft Holmes from 2C? He was supposed to meet me down here.” The bored-looking attendant stirred at finally being given a purpose and checked the log book.

“He was checked out approximately an hour and a half ago.” Greg frowned. That would have been right after he’d left My’s room.

“Did he leave a note for me?” he asked. The attendant shook her head and Greg walked away in a confused daze. Sure it was a agreed to be a simple, holiday fling, but he’d thought that, perhaps, something was growing between them. Something tangible, long-lasting. But the cleaning woman ducking into the redhead’s room (old) room only confirmed it was actually over. Another one was bowing her way out of his room and he thanked her with a nod and a forced smile. Greg simply stood in the doorway for a long minute after the door closed behind him and his eyes fell on his guitar. The one that had introduced him to My in the first place. The one that, even if he picked up now, wouldn’t bring the other man back. With a heavy sigh, he sat on the edge of the bed and picked it up anyway, and resumed his practice.

Greg never called. Mycroft regretted leaving like he did, but nothing could be done now. Work threw him straight into a week of nonstop meetings and there was little time to dwell until he was back on campus and alone in his room. 

He called the hotel in Paris, wondering if perhaps Greg had left a message. But nothing had been left and he'd paid in cash so he had no way to find the man. 

Still, when the holidays came he half-hoped... But nothing. Mycroft tried to put him out of his mind (though he couldn't bring himself to delete the night entirely) and get on with his life. He was very careful to not let anyone get so close again. 

**TWENTY YEARS LATER**

The wood of his guitar was chilled from its time in its case. After all, he only brought it out once a year nowadays; after uni, and after convincing his remaining family and friends that he really did want to be a copper for the rest of his life, he'd thrown all his time and energy into achieving that goal. And now that he'd made Detective Inspector, he had less time than ever for his long-time hobby. But this one day, this one song, he'd always make time for.

Greg took a sip of his wine and stroked a finger down the side of the framed picture of his parents on the night of their vow renewal. He had played a song for them that night, one he had practiced for weeks on, and had only gotten the last bit right thanks to a stranger from down the hall in the hotel he'd been staying at. He'd managed a one-day whirlwind romance with the now-faceless 'My' before the redhead (he remembered that much) disappeared as quickly as he'd appeared. Two days later, on their second honeymoon, his parents died in a boating accident. He had been glad his temporary lover had gotten out when he had; souring a lovely holiday fling with mourning was not on. Life went on though, and every year on his parent's anniversary, he played their song for them, and then retired early, mind unerringly going to his one-day fling.

Suddenly, there was a firm, persistent knock on the door and Greg sighed explosively, angry to have this evening of all evenings interrupted. Reverently, he put placed the guitar on the couch and stalked over to the door as another knock sounded. "God dammit, Sherlock!" he shouted at the young man he could picture just on the other side of the door. Idiot had been showing up at crime scenes in various stages of sobriety, insisting that he be let in to investigate. Greg never failed to turn him away, and Sherlock never failed to show up in the most ridiculous places, aiming for a 'yes'. "I'm not going to change my mind!" he continued, reaching for the door knob and flinging the door open. "You are _not_ allowed on my crime sce--" The man on the other side of the door was distinctly not Sherlock, red-haired, freckled, dressed in an expensive grey wool suit with an umbrella hooked over his arm. Something about his face looked familiar, and niggled at his memory, but he couldn't seem to place it. "Do I know you?"

_TWENTY MINUTES EARLIER_

These days Mycroft's other occupation seemed to be trying to keep his younger brother from overdosing or otherwise ending up dead in alley somewhere. So when he'd shown up on Mycroft's doorstep, ranting about how the police were all idiots, he'd brought him into his kitchen, only half listening as he fixed tea. Until Sherlock had spat out the name of the DI. Mycroft felt shot through the heart, but he kept his composure. 

"Lestrade you say?" he asked as he turned and put a cup and saucer in front of Sherlock. "Does he have a first name?"

"Gavin? Gareth? Starts with a G. It doesn't matter," growled Sherlock. For once, Mycroft was glad he was half out of his mind and too busy being angry to really look at him. "They need me and he won't let me help. They've been trying to solve this spate of crimes for nearly three weeks now. I could have solved it already if this Inspector allowed me access."

"Perhaps I could speak with him," said Mycroft. 

Sherlock snorted, then gave him a suddenly penetrating look. "You know him." It wasn't a question. 

"Perhaps. And if I do it was many years ago."

Opening his mouth to start deducing, Sherlock suddenly slumped in the chair as the tranquilizers Mycroft had slipped in his tea kicked in. Mycroft summoned help from his driver and they got Sherlock into bed with orders to keep an eye on him when he got back from dropping Mycroft at an address. 

It wasn't the best neighborhood. It hadn't taken much work to find the man's location and a quick look at his records. He'd done well in his career, though his personal life had been something of a mess. His driver showed some hesitation at leaving his boss here, but a look from Mycroft sent him off to follow his orders. 

Mycroft took a deep breath as he headed up the stairs to the flat. He had no idea if he'd be recognized, let alone welcomed. But he had to try. He froze at the soft guitar chords on the other side of the door. If that was an omen, he didn't know if it was good or bad. Steeling himself, he knocked firmly. 

Of course the Inspector assumed it was Sherlock as he shouted and headed for the door. He flung the door open and stopped. There was the barest hint of recognition. "Do I know you?"

" _Bonjour étranger_ , " said Mycroft. 

Greg blinked. He hadn't heard that phrase in years. Not since... not since... _red hair blue eyes grey tweed soft skin_. "Mycroft," he gasped, memories snapping into place. Heart already heavy with lament and nostalgia, his emotional and self control near nil, and he surged forward, pressing his lips to the long-missing man's as he pushed the redhead's back to the wall opposite his door.

Mycroft moaned. _Oh God_. He buried his hands in the now-gray hair. Greg's body was still solid against his. And it felt like the intervening twenty years had never happened. Even after all this time, Greg still felt _right_. A strong thigh pushed between his legs and he rutted against him like a teenager, opening his mouth to his probing tongue, for once in his life not even caring about the public display.

"If I remember right, we never got to the 'public sex' bit of our affair," Greg growled, rocking his hips (and his erection) forward, moving mouth, teeth, and tongue down Mycroft-- _My's_ \-- jaw and neck. "Fancy adding that on now?" he asked with a grin, grinding his thigh into the hard erection against it.

Mycroft gasped. He'd never done anything of the sort. Hell, he'd barely had a lover, let alone anything dangerous. "Yes," he assented. They should talk, but wanting to take things slow had cost him twenty years already, he wasn't going to wait another twenty. 

“Yes?” Greg echoed, a little surprised. My nodded and the DI grinned wickedly. “Don’t suppose you have any lube on you?”

“I may have grabbed some supplies on my way out the door, just in case. They’re in my left pocket.” Mycroft licked his lips, wanting Greg to hold him against the wall and just take him.

The silver-haired man distracted the redhead with another filthy kiss as he reached into the pocket and pulled free a plastic tube. He didn’t catch what it was until he snapped open the lid and smelled the sweet, lemon scent. He blinked in surprise and looked down at the bottle. “‘Lemonade Lubricant’.” Suddenly, he remembered a throwaway comment years ago about flavoured lube. “You remembered,” he said, voice a bit faint in surprise.

Mycroft reached to touch his cheek. “I have never forgotten.” Greg looked back up at him and Mycroft met his eyes. “I am sorry,” he said, feeling his heart ache with all the lost time.

“Me too,” Greg replied softly. “But I need to be inside you right now, then we can talk.” My nodded as the DI undid his button and zip, pulling his trousers and pants down even as he turned the other man to face the wall. The liquid he poured into his fingers was lukewarm at best from being in the other man’s pocket, and he warmed it one-handed as he pocketed the bottle before palming the smooth, pale arse. “Still as soft,” he murmured into an equally soft neck, reaching between them to press a finger into the tight hole.

Mycroft tried to muffle the moan against his arm. It had been more than a year since the last time he’d slept with anyone. Work and Sherlock took up far too much of his time. Greg’s fingers were insistent but gentle, and he rocked himself back onto them, craving the touch, craving the man’s cock inside of him once again. Everything narrowed down to those fingers and this touch.

The hallway was silent except for his lover’s quiet gasps, and Greg occupied his own mouth with the flesh of My’s neck, sucking red marks and dark bruises into the pale skin. It felt like too long before the tight hole felt loose enough for his cock and he paused, three fingers deep. “Do we need a condom?”

Forcing himself to pull his head back, Mycroft rest his forehead on his arm. “I am clean. It is up to you.”

“Good. I always wondered back then what it would be like to be inside you without one.” My sucked in a breath as Greg pulled his cock free, placing the tip against the wet hole, pausing before he pushed inside. His adrenaline was already spiked by being so exposed, being out in the open, and he thrust quickly, bottoming out in a second. My’s gasp was loud in the hallway and Greg pressed a palm to his mouth, quieting his sounds. His own he muffled against the mottled skin of his lover’s neck as he began thrusting, moving his hips in quick snaps.

It was even better than he’d remembered. Mycroft’s eyes were screwed tightly shut, feeling vulnerable here in the hallway, but trusting the man behind him. _'I would shift my life for him.'_ It was true then, it was true now. He knew it would always be true. He squeezed around his lover, groaning against his hand.

"Shit, _mon cher_ ," he whispered, orgasm threatening already despite his years of experience; he felt fourteen all over again: on a hair trigger for any new experiences. "I'm close. Jesus, you're so tight and it feels so good, so soft, so fucking tight."

“Come for me, Gregory,” demanded Mycroft, panting into his palm. He needed to feel him.

With a hard thrust, grinding his pelvis against the plush arse, Greg did just that, cock pulsing his release into the burning heat around it. His shout and following groans were muffled by the skin of his lover's neck, and he trembled with the strength of his release. Finally, when everything subsided, My's lips were moving against his palm and Greg pulled his hand away to listen, sweet pleas for friction and release breathed into the wall.

Just then there was the sound of a door slamming somewhere else. Mycroft’s eyes went wide and he pushed away from the wall, scrambling for the safety of Greg’s flat. In his haste he tripped over his trousers and landed sprawling face down over the ottoman in front of Greg's couch. His face flushed as Greg burst out laughing. 

My started to scramble upright and Greg quickly knelt between the spread legs, pushing hard enough on the embarrassed man's arse to keep him in place. "Sorry, My. Didn't mean to laugh," he tried to placate, still smiling. He pulled the lube back out of his pocket and snapped the lid open, pouring the liquid directly onto the damp, pink arsehole. The redhead made a surprised, confused sound as he tried to look over his shoulder, and Greg gave him a cheeky wink before he dove in, thrusting his tongue through the tight ring.

Mycroft cried out, trying to muffle his sound. No one had _ever_ done this for him. He spread his legs wider, rutting nearly violently against the ottoman. His mind went blank with the pleasure. 

It was a lot harder to smirk with one's tongue up someone's arse, but Greg sure as hell felt like he was smirking. It was hard not to, what with the way someone so composed as My still seemed to be falling to pieces under his tongue. The writhing was easy to ride, and despite his age, his cock was already twitching, trying to get hard again. He ignored it in favour of his current life goal: making My come by no other means than his tongue alone.

The pleasure was so overwhelming that all Mycroft could do was whimper as he came, staining the ottoman and probably the carpet. His mind was full of Greg and his arse full of that wicked tongue and it had been _years_ since anything had felt this good.

Triumphant and smug, Greg pulled his tongue free with a slow lap to the twitching rim before he curled around the front of the ottoman to nuzzle behind My's ear. "If I still know you like I did back then, then I'd bet you've never let anyone else do that to you before, have you?"

Mycroft shook his head. “I don’t trust people,” he muttered, eyes closed, limp and unwilling to move from his spot. “Only you.”

“That is incredibly flattering,” Greg murmured. He opened his mouth to say more, but he became suddenly and intensely aware of the acrid sweetness of lemonade lubricant and the faint taste of his own release on his tongue and he grimaced. “Hold that thought. I need to brush my teeth so I can kiss you.” He didn’t bother waiting for an answer before he hopped up, shuffling his trousers and pants off with his toes and stripping off his button up and vest as he walked to the bathroom. He didn’t bother moving quickly either, the weight of that blue gaze like lasers on his arse. He wasn’t as fit as he was twenty years ago, but he was still fresh from street duties and chasing after criminals had kept him more fit than most men his age. Once he was in the toilet though, he scrubbed his teeth hard and fast, and rinsed his mouth out with mouthwash before walking back in. This time, he was able to enjoy the way My’s eyes snapped to his soft cock and stayed there as he walked back over to the other man.

Mycroft swallowed hard and dragged his eyes up to Greg’s face. Licking his lips he rolled to his knees and then tried to hitch up his pants as he moved to the couch. “We should speak.” There was so much unsaid, after all.

“Yes, we should,” Greg agreed, catching the other man by the waist. “But I think it may be more pleasant if we were both naked.” The redhead seemed to hesitate, but when Greg captured his lips, distracting him with slow kisses, there was no complaint or tension when the DI’s fingers began undoing the buttons of his lover’s overcoat and shirt and helped him out of his clothing and shoes. With My fully naked, Greg settled them onto the couch, interlacing their limbs and simply enjoying the touch of skin against skin. “I think it’s best you start.”

“You never called me. I...I left you a note. Did you not see it?” Mycroft swallowed hard.

“A note?” His mind struggled to remember that day twenty years ago. “The desk attendant said there wasn’t--” Greg suddenly cut himself off, remembering how much of a hurry he’d been in to leave and the housekeeper who had been leaving his room when he’d come back. He groaned. “Housekeeping,” he growled. 

Mycroft nodded. “I slipped it under your door. My work, called right after you left.” He reached up to touch his cheek. “When you didn’t call... I thought you weren’t interested, so I never searched for you. But tonight... I had to know.”

“Hang on. How did you even find me?” Greg asked, frowning, down at his lover. He’d been so overwhelmed and excited, it didn’t even occur to him till now how unusual it was for someone he hadn’t seen for twenty years to show up on his doorstep. And sure, someone from NSY could have told him, but Greg hadn’t even had a chance to share his secret back then, how much he had wanted to join the police force. How had My known?

Mycroft gave a wry smile. “You were half correct when you thought I was Sherlock. He is my younger brother. And it really would benefit you to have in on your crime scenes.”

Greg spluttered, caught entirely off guard. “Sherlock? Sherlock is your brother?”

Mycroft bit his lip and withdrew his hand, worried. “Yes. He is Sherlock Holmes.”

“Holmes!” the DI exclaimed. “Mycroft Holmes! Oh my god. Now I just feel like a wanker. I can’t believe I forgot your last name,” he groaned as he dropped his face to his hand, rubbing the bridge of his nose furiously.

Mycroft moved his hands to lean in and kiss him. “It has been a while. And there have been other things to occupy your time.”

For a long moment, the silver-haired man allowed the kiss before he broke away, guilt niggling at his mind. “I bet you had just as much. You were important to me, and I couldn’t even do you the courtesy of remembering your name.”

“I...looked up your file on the way over. I understand your parents passed away only a few days after our meeting. You can hardly be expected to remember every detail of a few hours assignation.”

“Tonight’s their anniversary,” Greg said quietly. “I play for them every year.”

Mycroft gathered him in his arms and held him. “I hope that I’m not intruding.”

"No... You're not intruding. I think they would have liked you. In fact," he murmured, a hazy memory swimming to the surface, "I think they wanted to meet you. I told them someone helped me get it perfect. They were... suitably interested," he chuckled. "I remembered thinking I was only supposed to fend off a lover's absence only when we were still lovers." My's disappearance had stung back then, and it had been a fight to keep such a cheery façade up for his parents. Now he could look back on the moment with a warm fondness and soft laughter.

“I am so sorry the fates conspired to keep us apart these years. But...perhaps you could play me the song?” Mycroft let go of him so that he could reach for the guitar if he wanted. He really did want to hear it. “And… though we are both busy men, I would like to resume this relationship.”

Already reaching for the now-warm wood, Greg stopped and leaned back in for another slow kiss. "I don't know how much free time I'll have, I suspect it won't be much, but I'd like to spend it with you," he whispered against soft lips. The redhead sighed acceptance into his mouth before Greg sat back, disentangling their limbs to give room for the guitar that had brought them together .

Mycroft leaned against the arm of the couch. Greg's fingers had become more fluid over the last twenty years, and the beautiful melody they produced filled the room with a quiet melancholy that spoke of the loneliness they'd both endured in their time apart. But perhaps now that they had found one another again, Mycroft could finally have back what had haunted him since the moment he'd first had it.

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, don't forget to review, and please make sure to come visit [Mer](http://merindab.tumblr.com/) and [Kat](http://themadkatter13-fanfiction.tumblr.com/) on our tumblrs!


End file.
